


Five Inches Closer

by flozz



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 5 senses fic, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, M/M, Not Beta Read, Romance, Smut, not explicit, pre S3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-04-30
Packaged: 2018-01-07 12:09:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1119658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flozz/pseuds/flozz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes our senses can help us understand more about ourselves and the ones we love. Sometimes instinct is more reliable than rationality.<br/>"Why can't people just think? Oh, he was starting to see why."<br/>5 senses fic. Johnlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Smell

Sherlock _loved_ John's smell. 

He couldn't really explain why - even he himself didn't know. He just did.  
He had noticed right away: it was a soft smell - _inadequate adjective_ , he thought, _smells can't be soft_. But it _was_ soft. That was the only way to describe it.  
John's smell was not like other men's. It wasn't strong or unpleasant, nor unbearably sweet.  
Lestrade, for instance, wore strong cologne, the same every day since he knew him; too sweet, too dominant and it burned rather unpleasantly at his sensitive nostrils. It also made it difficult or impossible, during cases, to concentrate on other important things. It was annoying.  
John's, on the other hand, wasn't annoying at all.  
His scent had something completely unique, something Sherlock had never found before in his life. Something that made John, _John_. And, consequently, special.  
John smelled of _home_.  
Actually, he wasn't sure of that statement: was it John who smelled like home? Or was it their home that smelled like John? He didn't care.  
The only thing he cared about, was that when he was with John, he felt good and safe. And that was all that mattered.  
John didn't often wear cologne, Sherlock had concluded, and, if he did, it was delicate, pleasant and merely noticeable. Sherlock loved to inhale deeply, when they were standing together at a crime scene, or they were at Angelo's, or at home; just to get to smell that little, almost inexistent but present - _definitely_ present - scent.  
Only with John had Sherlock started to appreciate these little things. And _only_ the ones concerning John.  
But it wasn't just the cologne. Not at all. It wasn't special, rare or expensive, something only he had. It was cheap and dull and not particularly sweet. Not special.  
What made John's scent remarkable, was simply _him_.  
John had a scent of his own. His skin, his hair, his whole _being_. Sherlock didn't know what it was that made it special.  
It was John. Only John.  
Sherlock stayed next to him as often as possible, just to get a taste of that essence that was only his. When they were together, standing next to each other (which was every day, really) he would sniff, _loudly_ , just for a moment, a brief moment. Just to catch that hidden part of him, that golden, bright aura, sweet and pleasant and impossible to resist.  
He didn't know if John had ever noticed, but if he had, he didn't complain about it.  
Until that day.

00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

It was a rainy day in mid september - _grey, dull, annoying_ \- when it happened.  
Sherlock was sitting on the long sofa, eyes closed, fingers steepled under his chin, breathing steadily and thinking about a tricky case, when John came through the door of 221B dripping wet.  
Sherlock hardly moved as John made his way around the room, but paid attention to all the details he could catch with his sharp hearing. He was walking calmly and steadily, so he wasn't upset; there was the sound of big drops of water hitting the floor, the wet ruffling of clothes, the sound of his breathing. It was an awfully distracting amount of noise John was making and, right when the loud squeaking of his shoes was becoming too annoying and Sherlock was about to point that out, John sat down heavily right next to him and, after taking a long, tired, breath, he exhaled with a loud "huff" - or was it a sigh?- and relaxed.  
Sherlock stiffened at the unexpected proximity of his flatmate and, lifting his eyelids for the first time, he smelled.  
There it was. John's scent, soaked in rain and mud, but it was there, incredibly close and incredibly overwhelming, like a hot breeze.  
He inhaled deeply, his eyelids trembling slightly, closing for an instant as he unconsciously shifted some inches toward John, leaning inperceptibly to the left. There was the sound of clothing moving.  
"Sherlock...?"  
"Uhm?"  
"Did you just...? I mean... No, sorry. Nevermind." he stopped, coughed awkwardly, then stopped again.  
"What is it, John?"  
John paused.  
"Did you just... _smell_ me?"  
Sherlock looked at him, trying to analize his expression. He didn't look offended, freaked out or angry; he just looked genuinely surprised, his eyebrows up and a faint but perceptible hint of amusement on his face. Sherlock looked away from him.  
"Um..yes. I-.. sorry."  
"Why?" John chuckled.  
Now, Sherlock was not an expert in social interactions, but even he could see that this was getting pretty awkward.  
"You...." he paused. "You smell good." He frowned. It sounded like an apology and it sounded ridiculous. Since when did he say exactly what passed through his mind?  
"Yeah?" John laughed again and looked away. There was a pause and Sherlock thought it was over, but John continued.  
"What do I smell like, then?"  
Sherlock was unsure of what to answer. He turned his head toward him and stared, still frowning slightly. He still had that amused expression on his face, but there was something more...  
Sherlock stared for a second. This conversation was slipping out of control and he didn't like that.  
"You smell of rain.Mud, tea, deodorant...some mint, your toothpaste. You smell...familiar."  
John's expression changed. It still looked amused, yes, but it was also a deepest feeling. Indecision. Surprise. _Pleasant_ surprise. Affection.  
"Thank you....I guess?" he said, still chuckling but also strangely serious. Sherlock had been completely straightforward and this had left him at a loss of words.  
Sherlock looked away again, nodding slightly.  
John, instead, looked at him. Sherlock could see him licking his lips with the corner of his eye. For a moment it looked like he was about to say something, but, much to Sherlock's disappointment, he fell silent, got up from the sofa and went upstairs, muttering something to excuse himself. Sherlock breathed and closed his eyes.

They never talked again about what happened, but now, every time Sherlock stood next to him, sniffing to taste his familiar scent in his mouth and nostrils, closing his eyes for a moment and thinking of home, John Watson noticed and smiled fondly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi dearest readers (if there are any). Thank you for being here! This is my first story on AO3 so bear with me if I don't know how it works just yet. Plus it's just an experiment, hope you enjoyed it. Warnings: english is not my first language so there might(will) be mistakes. Sorry about that! If something's off just let me know and I'll change it right away.  
> Thank you so much again for reading! Next chapter (Touch) will be here soon, I hope. Have a nice day!  
> (Rating might change, don't know yet!)


	2. Touch

Phisical contact had never been one of Sherlock's priorities and, certainly, not something that made him feel good or gave him pleasure. He had always considered it pointless. He had always thought that people who kept touching one another all day were desperate. Human beings needed attention and they spent their life seeking it, dreaming of pleasure and happiness and unable to find either. At least, that was what Sherlock had always claimed.  
Recently, though, he had started being more honest with himself. His brother had seen right through him from the start, of course. He had said, exact words, that his were just "pathetic excuses to hide the fact that nobody (at least, so Sherlock thought) would ever need his love." Sherlock kept saying that he didn't have any love to give - _love is dull_ \- but Mycroft wasn't blind nor stupid.  
Sherlock had always been sad. Being the "clever young man he was", it was normal to be sad. A remarkable mind such as his was more than capable of analysing what his body really needed - _touch, heat_ \- but, at the same time, it was perfectly capable of hiding it from anyone. Even himself.  
So, Sherlock had lied to himself and others without noticing that, by doing so, he wasn't really _living_ and that his soul was slowly falling apart.  
Growing up, Sherlock had not only followed that path but he also started ignoring his mature impulses. It wasn't that he should have wanted to have sex with someone. But someone beside him, that he required. He kept denying it, but it was obvious.  
Sherlock felt lonely.  
Mycroft wasn't of any help. They were the same, denying love, building up the "cold façade"; it was a "Holmes" thing. "Caring is not an advantage." They lived chasing advantages, ignoring what really mattered, being practical, stoic. Avoiding love and becoming empty shells.  
But John had changed this.  
He was incredible: firm, trustworthy, loving, brave, perfect. He was exactly what Sherlock wasn't. He loved, he cared; he lived of all those things Sherlock had always avoided locking himself in that mind palace of his, away from love, away from sentiment.  
But John - _oh John_ \- he was the sun. He was pure light and Sherlock wanted to approach him, to be loved by him, he wanted to be his world as much as he wanted John to be his.  
It was a physical need, he soon noticed. Very physical.  
His body _needed_ John's presence, it needed his warmth, like a flower needed the sun to survive.

So, he touched him.  
As often as he could, he touched him, pretending it was nothing at first. He brushed his hand against John's, he touched his shoulder, his clothes, feeling the warm body under his hand.  
He didn't even notice anymore. It had become as natural as breathing. It was like his body insinctively _tended_ to John, living of his existence alone.  
John stopped noticing too. Quite soon. He liked it, having random contact with a person that was the most important in the world for him right now.  
Because Sherlock wasn't just "someone". He was clever and explosive: his touch was rare and precious and only meant for him. John was flattered, honoured.  
Sherlock _cared_. Of course he did. He was ready to die for the ones he loved, John was quite sure of it.  
Because he was too. And they were the same.

 

Some weeks had passed since the awkward "you smell good" incident. After that, they started being together even more often than before. They watched telly together on the couch almost every night, they had tea together every day.  
It was like they were following the terms of a shared contract, one neither of them knew the existence of. Something had broken somewhere and their bond became deeper and deeper.  
They didn't call themselves a couple. Sherlock despised the word itself and John wasn't even officially gay. Although, since everybody else _did_ call them a couple, they gave up on correcting them.  
It was slow - there was no rush after all - but they were happy as always.  
Basically, nothing was visibly changing: except for that touching, that slight touching John loved and Sherlock seeked; a tender touch they shared every day exactly when both of them needed it the most.

Fin~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. I'm super-late with this, I'm so sorry!  
> Even though I checked like a thousand times, I'm sure there'll be a lot of grammar mistakes. Do forgive me but, as I said in the first chapter notes, I don't have a beta. Also, I had some problems with the word "touch". I don't really know what form I should use in the last sentences. Any advice?  
> Hope you liked the chapter anyway :) next chap will be 'Sight'. Let's hope I am able to update soon ^^ bye everyone!  
> p.s. i don't know how to delete these notes, down here? Helpp?

**Author's Note:**

> Hi dearest readers (if there are any). Thank you for being here! This is my first story on AO3 so bear with me if I don't know how it works just yet. Plus it's just an experiment, hope you enjoyed it. Warnings: english is not my first language so there might(will) be mistakes. Sorry about that! If something's off just let me know and I'll change it right away.  
> Thank you so much again for reading! Next chapter (Touch) will be here soon, I hope. Have a nice day!  
> (Rating might change, don't know yet!)


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